292 THE LAND OF THE LION 



I have never heard anything as nerve-shaking as the 

 noise made by fifty or more buffalo when charging through 

 dense scrub. The fact that they are quite invisible when 

 within so short a distance as fifteen yards, adds to the strain, 

 the tornado of sound, snorting, whistling, crashing, thun- 

 ders on, you feel that you must be swept down. But no, 

 the rushing column sees you a few yards off, though you 

 can see nothing, and stops like a wall. 



Long before this point in the proceedings is reached the 

 trackers and any gunbearers that are not first rate have 

 decamped, and I do not blame them. Dooda would have 

 retreated if he had dared, but he knew well what he would 

 have got had he done so. As usual, my Brownie was cool 

 and calm, standing up to my elbow. 



As with rhino charging, so with buffalo. The action of 

 the animals is often misunderstood. The black mass 

 rushes forward. A wild fire is opened, men take to the trees 

 if there are any. The herd divides or sweeps back, and the 

 sportsman by the camp fire has yet another blood-curdling 

 yarn to tell, of gory death narrowly averted by strenuous rifle 

 fire. Of course it is not so. Had he kept his nerve and 

 stood his ground silently, his men (gunbearers at least) would 

 have been quiet and he would have really learned something 

 of the mystery of jungle life. I have three times awaited a 

 rushing column of buffalo in densest scrub. They have 

 come up at great speed to within a very few yards, then 

 stood stock still for half a minute, sometimes more, and 

 then as wildly rushed away. 



A single old bull, or a cow with calf, is a far more deadly 

 antagonist than a whole charging herd. 



While I was in the Protectorate I heard of four white 

 men who were tossed by buffalo. One was killed, another, 

 though horned three times and trampled on, was not much 

 hurt. The other two were rather severely wounded. 



Why my wounded bull never mustered up courage to 



